


Casting Out the Angel of Music

by RinzlersGhost



Series: From Ashes [2]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling from Heaven, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinzlersGhost/pseuds/RinzlersGhost
Summary: The story of how Esrafel is cast out
Series: From Ashes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057346





	Casting Out the Angel of Music

Egypt. Esrafel rocked back on his heels, platinum blond hair swinging in motion with him as he surveyed humanity from one of the monuments that they had built to the sky. Egypt was an accomplishment of humans. They took pride in their work. He was honestly surprised they had made it this far. They were peculiar creatures with customs that he could not always comprehend. Esrafel shook his head; he was not made to know such things. It was best not to question the work of the Almighty.  
He found his feet made their way along the Nile, where slaves toiled under the burning heat to build new troughs for water. The Nile still ran thick with blood and the stench was horrific. He wrapped a length of cloth around his nose and mouth. It had been sweetened in incense and drowned out the vileness of the river Nile.  
Esrafel never understood why his God had made Her people suffer so. Like the others, he had been taught not to question God after the rebellion of Lucifer and those that followed him. Still, he wondered why humans felt the need to build their success on the backs of others. Some of the slaves were no more than children!  
The Egyptian slave-master caught his attention, his voice carrying along the riverbanks.  
“Slave! On your feet!” Esrafel drew closer to the situation at hand, still concealing himself from human eyes. He found the slave-master, whip in hand, having already struck out. The cry of a child echoed in the valley.  
“No, my child, no!” A dark-skinned Egyptian woman rushed past him, throwing herself at the child. “Take me! Leave my child alone!”  
“The punishment for theft…” The slave-master sneered. A broken clay pot lay shattered on the ground. Esrafel surmised that the child must have been gathering water. “Very well. Let her stand punishment for the child.”  
“Indigo, I need you to run.” The woman pleaded, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands before turning to face the slave-master.  
“Kill her.” The slave-master hissed, darkness in his eyes.  
“Mama!” The child could hardly move, let alone run, watching the scene unfold with abject horror as the whip cut across her again and again, until she was bleeding out in the sands.  
Esrafel wasn’t allowed to interfere in the lives of humans. Angels in general weren’t allowed to interfere in the lives of humans… that is unless by explicit order of the Almighty. But in the heat of the moment, Esrafel didn’t care. In the heat of the moment, he showed his holy anger.  
The mother was too far gone, but as the slave-master walked menacingly towards the child, whip still flickering out and snapping blood everywhere, Esrafel spread his wings and made his presence very, very known. Holy light seared into the slave-master’s eyes and he dropped to the ground, screaming in agony and clawing at his face. By the time anyone had come to the scene, Esrafel had taken the child and fled.  
On the outskirts of the Egyptian city, there was another angel, more permanently stationed on Earth. His name was Aziraphale, and he had been a caretaker of Eden for the longest time, until God decided to get rid of it that is. Aziraphale was the only angel who had ever been assigned permanent duty to Earth, and no one exactly knew why. Personally, Esrafel had thought on more than one occasion that he had caught Sandalphon mention that it was a punishment for letting humans be tempted by the demon Crawly. But the angel seemed as content as angels could be.  
Esrafel knew Aziraphale’s encampment on the outskirts included a partition of tents of Egyptians, slave and non-slave alike, that practiced pagan medicine. He changed his course there, seeing blood seeping through the child’s clothing. Sandals beat against hot pavement as he made his way through throngs of people and darted into Aziraphale’s quarters.  
“Esrafel!” Aziraphale stood, coming to his side. “What…” His face fell, and Esrafel saw recognition pass through his eyes. “Indigo!” He gestured to the cot off to the side of the tent, and Esrafel set her down gently, helping Aziraphale be rid of the bloody clothes. Using a small miracle, Aziraphale prayed and his fingers made their way to flesh, healing the gashes that had been torn out. Esrafel followed with a small blessing, from the plagues he knew were to come.  
On the seventh day, in the seventh hour, Esrafel knew his time was approaching. He stood, uncertain of leaving the child alone, but Aziraphale nodded gratefully to him. “You didn’t have to… you risk so much…” He murmured. “Be careful, Esrafel.” Esrafel made himself invisible to human eyes again, flying to sit atop the Egyptian temples.  
It was quiet… for now. The plague of water turning to blood was only the beginning. No, something else entirely, something wicked this way came. The horns from the heavenly host sounded only to him. He raised his flute to his lips, playing a harmony that he had long practiced in Heaven, a song written to God, a song written for God. It was beautiful, as most things the angels created were, but the result that followed afterwards was anything but. He was horrified to find that the next plague was frogs, a multitude, a swarm and that they emanated from him and a giant bullfrog sitting at his feet!  
“Why?!” He shouted it at the top of his lungs, leaping from the bullfrog, flute clutched to his chest in dismay. His song had been beautiful, an ode to the righteousness of God’s anger at the way Her people were being treated, and it had been… had been… A bolt of lightning seared through the sky, and seared through his chest, and too shocked (literally) to fly, Esrafel plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud.  
He tasted copper and sulfur in the back of his throat as he stood and became acutely aware of the smell of burning feathers and flesh. He tried to lift his wings but they bleakly would not obey and he realized then that at least one of them was broken and caused him pain when he tried to flex it. Agony poured from his eyes in the form of black tears that stained his pale skin as he sank to his knees and fucking cursed God for the first time in his immortal life. He could hear cacophony beneath his knees as demons clamored in rejoicing for another angel fallen.  
“Hey mister.” Esrafel glanced to the side. It was the dark-skinned child he had rescued not hours earlier.  
“Bug off, kid.” Esrafel growled.  
“Your wing…” Indigo started.  
“I said bug off!” He hissed darkly.  
“Can fix it if you let me, mister.” Indigo murmured. Esrafel wondered how the kid even saw him, even saw his wings. Was he visible? Could he even tell anymore? “You landed awful funny, mister. Lucky you didn’t break more.”  
“You saw that, huh?” Esrafel asked. “What does that make you? Nephilim?”  
“If I told you, I don’t think you’d believe me, mister. I’m Indigo.”  
“Esrafel… but probably not anymore.” He answered, letting her straighten the bone and wrap it against his side.  
“I know who you are. It is written.” Esrafel tilted his head to the side. It is written? Whatever did that mean? “It is written. And so the angel Esrafel falls, for who is he to question my authority. My angels shall pass these plagues unbeknownst to them or not. They may learn, but they will still deliver them. And those that I favor I shall pardon for I am God and this is my spite.” Indigo tugged her shirt sleeves down, but not before Esrafel caught glimpse of the dark markings on her skin. It looked like script.  
“Your name is Hastur. Your demon name. Let’s not skirt around it. I’m Indigo, and I’m an immortal. I suspect that perhaps one day we’ll probably meet again. Now, let’s get down to the task at hand.” Indigo folded her arms. “Jophiel, bringer of five plagues, will fall at the dusk of their last day. You will know them from then on as Beelzebub and they will be full of hatred. Nuriel, bringer of hailstorms, will fall as well; they will be writ as Ligur. They will offer you companionship on days you think you don’t need it. Samael, bringer of death, will be struck down. Puriel, bringer of darkness will fall; they will be known as Dagon and they will make ranks in Hell.”  
He stared at her. “How do you know this, little one?” Esrafel… Hastur finally managed to say something among the jumble of words racing through his head. “What of the angel who brought blood?”  
“What about them? She pardons who she pleases, spites who she wants to.” Indigo replied. “She’s your El Shaddai. I know her by another name.”  
“What name?” Hastur asked. Indigo didn’t immediately reply, finding the bullfrog that had finally made its way down from the temple and had managed to get seared in the process. She traced a small rune into its back and pressed her hand to it, healing it gently.  
“Ourana.” She placed the bullfrog into his hands.   
Ourana. He had never heard of it before. He had a feeling that that particular bit of information was important.   
“Your wings will heal. Maybe crooked. My healing isn’t all it’s supposed to be yet.” Indigo murmured. “I should go. I hope our paths cross again, Esrafel.”


End file.
